


sending you forget-me-nots

by ohhotlamb



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Implied Hisoka/Illumi, M/M, Reunion Fic, gon is illumi's TA, killua is still an ex-assassin, rating is for Killua's salty language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very boy that once hung the moon is the sky is staring up at him, open-mouthed, in his brother’s office—sitting in a cheap swivel chair with stupidly attractive hipster glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He’s bigger and he’s not wearing a lick of green but it’s still <em>Gon Freecs.</em> Or maybe it’s not. Maybe Killua’s hallucinating, maybe someone slipped him some shrooms, maybe it’s just some ridiculously on-point doppelgänger—</p><p>
  <em>“Killua?”</em>
</p><p>Nope, it’s definitely him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Not all friendships last forever. But theirs will.

This is what Killua tells himself as he watches Gon wave at him from the passenger seat of the rotting stationwagon, some scruffy, stinky, hobo of a man in the driver’s seat.

Killua swallows dryly, his throat burning and his eyes stinging like someone just threw a handful of salt in his face. This wasn’t going to be forever, he tells himself. It was just going to be a trial run. A year, just to see if this man was capable of caring for the son he should have started giving a rat’s ass about a long time ago. Aunt Mito isn’t going anywhere—this house would always be a place for Gon to return home to. _Killua_ would always be a place for Gon to return to. The miles; the ocean that would separate them—they didn’t mean anything. They didn’t _have_ to mean anything, not if they didn’t let them. 

Gon’s making silly faces at him through the glass, mouthing words Killua can’t quite make out as Ging last-minute checks that everything piled in the backseat is somewhat stable. Gon breathes on the glass, making a nice cloud of fog that pisses Killua off because for a moment he can’t see his face. But then Gon’s drawing something on it, a familiar shape so easy to identify Killua recognizes it the after the first swipe of his index finger. A heart, the fake kind—not the shape of the organ that Killua has held in the palm of his hand, that he’s watched beat for the last time as the light leaves its owner’s eyes. It’s the kindergarten shape, the kind written on love letters and the notes Aunt Mito leaves in Gon’s lunch box.

Killua’s own heart feels so heavy he doesn’t know if it’s ever going to heal.

He wants to tell himself that they’re different—that just because they’re fourteen and still kids, it doesn’t mean that their friendship isn’t deep-rooted and permanent. That it will be easy to keep talking, even with the distance between them. That they’re _best friends—_ that Gon will never forget Killua, that he could never _be_ forgotten. Because Gon likes Killua for _exactly_ the way he is; even with all his imperfections and baggage, Gon still likes him. Still lets Killua be one-hundred percent _himself,_ lets him laugh and smile without a trace of shadow. It was a friendship that _laughs_ at distance.

This is what he tells himself, but the reality is cold and cruel. That time differences matter a lot, when it comes to phone calls. That school gets tougher and tougher, that Killua’s parents get less forgiving as he gets older and _he should know better, by now._ Ging turns out to be less of a deadbeat than was originally thought and one year turns into two, and two turns into three. Aunt Mito sells her house in the country with the marsh in the backyard in favor of returning to the island she was born on. The house becomes an empty, ghostly shell, but on bad days Killua sometimes still stops by to sit under the pine tree in the front and look at the branches above him, remember how they’d leap from one to another like monkeys, laughing death in the face.

So the years pass, Gon’s face becoming more and more murky as time goes by, and by the time Killua’s twenty years old he can’t remember if his eyes were green or brown or something in between.

 

 

 . . . 

. . .

 

 

The professor for his basic-level Psychology class is, to put it frankly, a fuckin’ psycho.

The entire fifty minutes that Killua sits in his seat, hand clenched around his pen (and why are all the desks so fucking tiny?) his back is prickling with distinct shivers of unease as the professor goes over the syllabus. And he swears— _swears—_ that this guy is singling him out. He’s not even in the front row; not even _close,_ but those nasty-ass yellow eyes seem to be zoning in on him, lips curling up at the corners like he knows something Killua doesn’t, and it’s simultaneously pissing him off and giving him the heebie-jeebies.

(And is he wearing _lipstick?_ There’s no way his mouth is naturally that color.) 

Killua stares at the clock mounted above the lecture podium like a hawk, diving for his backpack lying at his feet the second the big hand hits fifty. He crumples his syllabus into a ball and crams his notebook into his bag, shoves his pen into his hoodie pocket just as the professor finishes up his slideshow with a laidback smile. He gestures broadly to the class, his voice smooth and so silken it’s nearly slimy. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to send me an email or visit my office hours. I’ll see you all on Wednesday!”  

 _Ha. We’ll see about that._ Killua eases past a few people in his row before bee-lining towards the doors at the front of the hall, already feeling in his back pocket for his phone. Maybe he’ll be able to catch the earlier bus today, and maybe he’ll have a sandwich for lunch…no, wait, a _chocolate éclair_ —

“Hmm, oh, you there, young man with the white hair.” Killua freezes, cursing the day he was born. “Can you come here for a moment? I’d like to have a quick chat with you, if you don’t mind.”

_I sure as hell mind._

Yet he still ends up slumping his way over to the waiting freakshow, because he’s regretfully a good student and he doesn’t want to be on this teacher’s bad side on the first day. But he’s dragging his feet and stomping a little to show that, yeah, he’s not going to even _entertain_ the idea of being pleasant.

“Yeah?” he asks through his teeth the moment he’s within earshot, baring them in a not-quite smile that the professor (“Please, my little kiddies, call me Hisoka! I worked for my doctorate just like everyone else, but I like to keep things around here, hm, _casual.”)_ seems to find inexplicably amusing. Killua glowers, annoyed that he has to look up the tiniest bit in order to meet the catpiss-yellow eyes; those few centimeters feel like a personal insult. To top it off, Hisoka’s smirking, leering down his nose at Killua like he’s looking at something completely adorable. The hair on the back of Killua’s neck bristles, and he squares his shoulders in an attempt to make himself look bigger.

After a moment of quiet inspection that leaves Killua feeling violated, the professor grins, his thin lips spread too wide to look friendly. “You’re dear Illumi’s little brother, aren’t you? Darling Killua, isn’t it?”

What the _fuck._ Killua narrows his eyes. “Yeah, so? You know him?”

“You could say that,” Hisoka answers vaguely, drumming his fingers against the podium. He eyes Killua a moment longer before he smiles, reaches over to his bag and rummages around for a moment before removing a simple manila folder. Killua can see the edges of a stack of papers on the inside. “I would appreciate it immensely, if you would be so kind as to deliver this to Illumi’s office for me.” He presents the folder to Killua with a flick of his wrist, as if expecting his wish to be immediately granted. Not so easily pushed around, Killua just scowls.

“Why can’t _you_ do it?”

“Oh, it’s just the saddest thing. Dear Illumi has, regrettably, ‘banned me from his presence for the unforeseeable future.’” Hisoka sighs dramatically, pressing his fingers over his eyes. “It’s tragic.”

Now _that_ was the slightest bit interesting: Killua didn’t know that Illumi was close enough to someone else that exiling them was even a possibility. And that meant he was _friends,_ or _something,_ with this _clown_ of all people. Crinkling his nose, Killua hates that his curiosity is getting the better of him. “What did you _do?_ ” he demands. Whatever it was, it must have been nothing short of complete betrayal. After all, over the years Illumi had become remarkably patient and level-headed for someone who used to put holes in people’s heads for a living.

Hisoka brushes him off again. “The details aren’t important, dear Killua. What matters is that I have some extremely… _sensitive_ documents I need delivered to him immediately. It is of the utmost importance. But the mail will be too slow, and he has forbidden me from entering the physics building.”

Killua frowns at the folder. Realistically, he doesn’t think he’ll be making the early bus now, and since it’s still early in the term he doesn’t have a heavy workload to worry about. And he’s been meaning to drop in on Illumi…“And you don’t have _anybody_ else to do this?”

“Friends you can trust come by so rarely these days,” Hisoka tells him airily, waving his hand around. 

“I’m not your friend,” Killua points out, rolling his eyes so hard Alluka would have given him a standing ovation.

“But you _can_ be trusted,” Hisoka replies, smiling with teeth too white to be natural, daring Killua to disagree.

“Maybe.” He takes the papers from Hisoka, not bothering to hide his revulsion when their fingers brush. Hisoka comparably looks delighted.

“Do tell Illumi that I miss him horribly. And please keep in mind that these documents are utterly _confidential.”_

_Note to self: Avoid At All Costs._

 

. . . 

. . .

 

 

Killua doesn’t know what to do.

Since birth, he’d been trained to make spur-of-the-moment decisions that were not only the most intelligent course of action but that were also made at the drop of a dime. He had to be quick, but smart about it. The course of action to waste the least energy, the least movement, the one least likely to get him killed. And he had gotten damn good at it too, up until he followed his brother and took his little sister away from the Zoldyck name and all it entailed.

But his brain doesn’t know how to compute this situation. It’s fried, short-circuited, closed-for-business. Completely checked out.

Regretfully, Gon’s just always had that kind of effect on him.  

The very boy that once hung the moon is the sky is staring up at him, open-mouthed, in his brother’s office—sitting in a cheap swivel chair with stupidly attractive hipster glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He’s bigger and he’s not wearing a lick of green but it’s still _Gon Freecs._ Or maybe it’s not. Maybe Killua’s hallucinating, maybe someone slipped him some shrooms, maybe it’s just some ridiculously on-point doppelgänger—

“ _Killua?”_

Nope, it’s definitely him.

“ _Gon,”_ Killua chokes. He continues standing there, frozen, as Gon shoves the chair back and stands with so much force the chair goes careening in the wall, bouncing off with a sharp _thud._ But still Killua can’t move, can’t even feel his legs—but he knows that they’re shaking like leaves, that his knees are two seconds away from giving out on him.

_“Killua!”_

And before he can think about how different his name sounds coming from a voice so much deeper than he remembered, he’s being shoved into the doorframe, a strangled gasp ripped from his throat as he’s hugged with enough force to twist a horse into a pretzel.

“ _Killua. I—you—I didn’t know you were here—“_ Gon’s babbling into his ear, the elated joy so painfully obvious even as Killua desperately tries to deny it, tries to tell himself that this can’t be real, that this dream is too good to be true. He tries to keep his traitorous hands from snaking around Gon’s waist and hugging him back just as hard.

(He fails.)

He’s going so far as to bury his face in the crook of Gon’s neck and shoulder, his skin burning so much he’s afraid he’s going to literally combust, but Gon doesn’t seem to notice. He’s just laughing, periodically squeezing Killua’s ribcage and making his bones creak. It hurts but it’s keeping him from shaking himself apart, keeps the heart that’s swooping uncontained in his chest from breaking through and flying away. After a particularly constricting squeeze Gon pulls Killua away from the wall, literally _swinging_ him off his feet in a happy circle around the small room, letting out a victorious shout as he does.

“ _Gon!”_ Killua croaks—he hadn’t noticed, what with his brain shutting down and all, but there’s more different to Gon than just his hipster glasses. He’s shorter than Killua but built like a house, and Killua’s willing to bet Gon could bench-press him, if he had any inkling to ask. Something about him is distracting in a burning way, and Killua has no desire to question himself about why.

_(But he knows why.)_

Gon sets him back on the ground before finally pulling away, looking slightly up into Killua’s face, eyes shining like he’d just been told Christmas was coming early this year.

(They’re brown, but with hints of green around the pupil—they remind Killua of the marshes the two of them would tromp around, and he’s stunned that he forgot how they sparkle.)

“Oh, wow. _Look_ at you,” Gon says, his smile wide and mystified. Killua dully notes that one of his front teeth is chipped—a part of him wants to ask how that even _happened_ (the Gon Freecs he knew wasn’t clumsy, nor was he prone to letting anyone punch him in the face) but his tongue is flopping around his mouth uselessly, so he chooses to keep his lips clamped tightly shut instead. That decision is ruined for him a moment later when Gon runs the flats of his fingers down the sides of Killua’s cheeks, and his mouth fall open of its own accord because _Gon was touching him, when was the last time Gon had touched him, how many years had it been—_ and Gon laughs delightedly. “You have hair on your face!”

He hadn’t shaved all week—he hadn’t had the motivation. And it’s not like he cared what anyone thought of his snowy scruff. (He _still_ doesn’t—right?) Yet Killua scowls, inexplicably embarrassed. “Well, so do you!”

But it looks better on him. It’s a full stubble, dark on his chin and cheeks, and the stupid part of Killua thinks that it would feel wonderfully scratchy if they were to just—

He shuts that train of thought down before it can completely leave the station. Gon laughs again. “But it makes you look more mature!” He tilts his head, grinning. “Maybe it’s because it’s white. But it kind of makes Killua look like an old man.”

“Shut up, you asshole!”

Killua forgets that’s it’s been six years and that they’re technically not kids anymore, because Gon bursts into a fit of giggles and doesn’t put up much of a fight at all as Killua wrestles him down onto the carpeted office floor. “Wanna take it back?” he growls, unable to keep himself from grinning as he struggles against Gon’s flailing arms.

“Oh, but Killua! You didn’t let me finish! I meant to say that you look like a _handsome_ old man!” Gon gasps, laughing so hard Killua can feel it through his entire body. The laughter renders Gon’s muscles unresponsive, and Killua is easily able to pin his arms above his head.

“Who’s a handsome old man?” Killua barks, holding Gon’s wrists together with one hand and reaching down to jab him in the belly with the other. Gon wheezes, choking on a laugh that causes tears to run from the corners of his eyes. “Mercy! Mercy!” he yelps, wriggling between Killua’s legs, and—oh. Right.

Killua’s eyes widen, because he’s essentially straddling Gon, and this position would be undeniably compromising if anyone were to see it out of context—

“Oh, Killu. You’re here.”

Killua rolls so quickly off Gon he accidentally stabs him with a knee, and Gon wheezes again. Killua looks up, red-faced.

“Illu-nii.”

Illumi barely spares a glance to the breathless Gon lying spread-eagle on the floor, instead shuffling a mess of papers around inside his briefcase. “What brings you here, Killu?” he asks, making a soft, pleased sound as he unearths a hair-tie from the bottom of his bag. He walks over to his side-office, disappearing for a moment before returning with just his phone and car keys, his hands working his long hair back into a ponytail.

Killua wills the blood to leave his cheeks, suddenly remembering the reason he came here. He looks down to find the folder abandoned on the floor near the door, and he retrieves it, embarrassed. “Hisoka wanted me to give you these. Said they were really important or something,” he grumbles, passing it off to Illumi.

Illumi’s expression sours just slightly upon hearing who the sender is, but he otherwise keeps a straight face as he accepts the manila folder with a flourish. He opens it, his dark eyes giving the contents a quick once-over, and then he becomes utterly motionless. His joints lock all at once, and Killua sees his nostrils flare. A muscle twitches minutely in his jaw. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then: “Unsightly,” Illumi declares, toneless, before snapping the folder shut and dumping it unceremoniously in the recycling bin. He returns his attention to his phone, tapping at it quickly before holding it up to his ear. “Gon, you are free to go. I’m done for the day.” He looks over at Killua. “Killu, would you like to join me for dinner?”

“Uh…” Killua’s eyes flick over to Gon, who’s looking back at him with painfully clear hope, and he swallows. He doesn’t even have to debate with himself—the thought of leaving Gon right now physically pains him, and he likes to think that the feeling is somewhat mutual. “Actually, I’m gonna catch up with Gon for a while. We can eat together some other time.”

Illumi nods, blank stare very briefly settling on the boy still on the floor before he turns away. “I see. Gon, if you arrive before me tomorrow feel free to begin entering the grades for the first assignment. Have a good evening.” And then Illumi sweeps silently out of the room, leaving the two of them alone again. They look at each other.

Gon laughs so hard Killua’s worried he’s going to pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there could literally be a million reunion fics and i would never be satisfied.
> 
> probably one more chapter! rating may change, i'm still debating whether i want smut or not. it's not my strong suit, so it'll probably just be something fluffy. i've been wanting to write killugon for a loooong long time so i'm happy i got around to writing something for them!
> 
> tumblr is smileyeeyore.tumblr.com !


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of body heat, a little bit of Go Fish, a little bit of feelings.

“But…Gon. You’re _terrible_ at math. Why are you the TA of a physics professor?”

Gon smiles around the rim of his ginger ale, pulling it away and licking his lips clear of fizzling bubbles. Killua refuses to let it distract him. “I don’t actually do any kind of math or physics stuff. All I do is grade exams and put things into the computer. Organize. Kind of like his office assistant.”

“Hmm,” Killua grumbles, not at all pleased as swings his legs back-and-forth from his seat on the picnic table. For one, he had finished his huckleberry-flavored soda, and was already on the verge of sugar withdrawal. Second, Gon Freecs was working under Illumi Zoldyck, and that raised more than a few red flags. Just because he was now the dean of the physics department doesn’t magically erase the fact that he used to be an  _assassin_ _._ Sure, Illumi may _say_ that the old lifestyle is behind him now, but it still makes Killua anxious. Knowing his older brother could potentially kill Gon in a hundred different ways using his fingernails alone is…unsettling, if Killua had to pick a word.

Gon shrugs, watching Killua scrape the wood of the table in his anxiety. He’s leaving deep ridges, and Killua forces himself to stop thinking of unnecessary things. “Dr. Zoldyck’s cool, though. He said if I did a good job he’d write me a letter of recommendation.”

“How nice of him,” Killua mutters—a little _too_ nice, to be honest. There had to be something else in it for Illumi. But what?

A gust of biting wind surges between them, rattling the naked branches of the trees around them and tossing around some long-fallen leaves. Killua flinches, burrowing deeper into his scarf, but he watches as Gon tips his head back, closes his eyes and lets the cold assault his bare skin with no mercy. His cheeks and nose are red and he must be miserable in just a thin sweater, but Killua remembers how Gon was more or less a wild animal growing up. The elements had never bothered him, and he always had been mostly impervious to extreme heat or cold—he used to build himself forts in the marshlands using whatever he could find, spending the night underneath the stars. On the very rare occasions Killua joined him, campfire crackling and casting a burnt-orange glow over Gon’s dark skin, he looked like he felt more at home underneath the endless sky than he did sitting in Aunt Mito’s kitchen. Which is why Killua’s not surprised in the least when Gon follows up with: “Anyway, I really don’t mind it. My major’s Fisheries and Wildlife Science, but by the time I thought about maybe being a TA this term all the positions in my department were filled.”

“How’d you find out about my brother’s? Like you said, you’re not even in the same department,” Killua remarks, tipping his chin and looking up at the sky—no wonder it’s so cold, with a sky as blue and cloudless as that. But it’s beginning to turn a little dark at the edges as the sun begins its winter-early descent. Soon, the lamp-posts would turn on, and Killua would have to walk home in the dark. _But this way, you get to spend more time with Gon._ The voice inside him is sighing blissfully, its tone foreign and sickly sweet, as if it’s an entity by itself and not a part of Killua's own consciousness. _Shut up,_ he tells it. 

“Ah, it’s funny, actually—he emailed me, out of the blue, and offered me the position. I didn't have to do anything.”

“He did _what_.” That was so beyond _fishy._

"Mmm, yeah. Nice guy,” Gon repeats.

 _That_ wasn't something Killua's heard often, maybe ever. Illumi was a lot of things, but nice wasn't usually one of them. Polite, yes. Occasionally he gave out favors if they benefited him in some way. But he never does something out of the goodness of his heart. Killua would be getting to the bottom of this, that was for certain.

Instead of picking anxiously at the table again Killua jams his numbing fingers under his armpits, hating himself a little for forgetting gloves. Gon sees this and frowns—without another word he gets up from the picnic bench and sits on the table beside Killua, so close their sides are smushed together, thigh-to-thigh. “Body heat,” he offers, even though Killua hadn’t said anything.

“Right,” Killua mumbles back; his breath gets a little more difficult to enter and leave his lungs, having Gon so close again after so long. He _is_ warm, though, and smells good. Clean, like soap. A part of Killua wants to lean into him, to rest his head on that broad shoulder—but he can’t. The heat of the moment of their reunion is over; he can't just touch Gon as familiarly as he used to. Their physical distance may have shrunk like this, so drastically in the span of a heartbeat, but there was still all that _time._ He may seem like the same Gon _now,_ but this was still a first impression. Did he even know this Gon? Would he even like this Gon, the way he liked that twelve-year-old boy—skin perpetually scratched from thorns and so eager to let a sad little murderer into his life?

Killua shivers again, and he feels Gon’s arm shift against him; he half-expects him to drape it across Killua’s shoulders and pull him closer, but he doesn’t. It’s quiet again between them, the air thick, and Killua wonders if Gon can feel it, too. If he’s thinking the same things Killua is, if he’s thinking about friendship and time and maybe something else. _Something else—_ the very thought has Killua’s cheeks burning, and he hopes that if Gon happens to see, he’ll just pass it off as a rush of blood to fend off the cold.

He thought he had finally been freed from these sorts of thoughts when Gon left. In a way, it had been a relief; no more perpetual guilt over a feeling that was beyond his control. But from the moment they were reunited, they appeared again, as if they had been hiding within Killua in a deep slumber; waiting for Gon to show up in order to reveal themselves. He's always been aware of his little crush—the first and only of its kind, beginning and ending with Gon's arrival and departure in his life. That sweet-sour, electric-heart feeling that he had kept to himself like a dirty, beautiful secret. It's back with a vengeance, and it's scaring him. Because it's a little different this time—a little less sweet, a little more choking; fourteen-year-old Gon didn't have shoulders like these, didn't have big hands quite like this, didn't make Killua feel like he should go take a cold shower, even in this weather. It's making him feel like maybe this is a bad idea, this getting reacquainted again. But much like he knows that he shouldn’t eat as many sweets as he does, he can’t bring himself to consider leaving.

“Zoldyck’s not exactly a common family name, you know. How did you not realize we were related? Idiot,” he teases, to distract himself.  _Maybe he had forgotten you entirely,_ a nastier voice than the one before tells him. The sweeter one shrivels up, making his chest burn. He swallows, breathing in the crisp, painfully chilled air in an attempt to stamp it out.

“Killua's so mean!" Gon pouts, a smile twinkling somewhere underneath. It fades, replaced by something thoughtful. "I didn’t—“ Gon begins, then hesitates, biting his lip. “I did—consider that you were related. It was my first thought. And meeting him, he was so…” Gon trails off, and Killua mentally supplies him with accurate adjectives: _creepy, dangerous, cold, terrifying._ “He was so… _like you,_ you know? Just kind of…different? In a good way, of course, and I felt like he looked familiar, too, even though we had never met. Before.” _I would never have let you meet him, back then. Over my dead body._ If Killua had been a murderer, then Illumi had been a monster. Hands and soul dripping blood, black eyes cold and lifeless as the corpses he left in his wake. “But I remember that you had told me that you had older brothers, and...and you have the same eyes—the shape, not the color. I just. I didn’t—“ Gon frowns, and Killua suddenly feels like crying. This is such a bad idea. He's setting himself up again for heartbreak. But he just. Can't. Leave. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Oh.” 

 _I know the feeling,_  he thinks. _Why do you keep doing this to me._ He can’t stop himself when he starts to tilt, telling caution and rationality to fuck themselves when he finds his cheek rested comfortably on Gon’s shoulder. The fabric is soft and woolen, smelling like detergent and wood smoke. Gon’s hand reaches over Killua's lap, yanking his own right hand from the warmth of his armpit. Broad fingers then thread with his, and he sniffles, his nose stinging with winter air and unshed tears. This kind of happiness hurts, and he doesn’t know if he entirely likes it. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know if it even means anything.

But he knows that it can’t happen again. It doesn’t matter if this Gon isn’t the same Gon he knew—the next time someone tries to separate them again, he would fight tooth and nail. Now that he remembers the color of his eyes, has already grown used to the deep timbre of his voice—

“I really missed you, Killua,” Gon whispers, squeezing Killua’s hand in his. His thumb brushes over Killua’s knuckles, once, twice, thrice…

_I'm not letting you go._

Killua swallows dryly; he can’t see Gon’s face from here so he settles for looking at their hands. He idly realizes that this moment is going to be something he remembers for the rest of his life, whether he wants to or not.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

. . .

 

 . . . 

 

 

 

“Killua, would you come here for a moment?”

Killua knows the moment he hears Hisoka call for him across the lecture hall what he’s going to be asked. He has a clear shot to the door—if he wanted to, escaping unscathed would be a breeze—but instead his feet swerve in their path and he slouches his way over to the front podium. He’s telling himself he’s just trying to be a helpful student, but he knows the real reason is because this gives him an excuse to visit Illumi’s office again.

Maybe Gon will be there.

He wordlessly takes the envelope that Hisoka dangles in front of his nose, scowling. Hisoka smiles at him, leaning against the podium at an odd, strangely-provocative angle. Ugh. “Would you be a little peach and take that to your lovely brother for me?” he purrs, tilting his head in a poor attempt to look cute.

“What’s in it for me?” Killua asks, just to be a defiant little shit and because he _should_ be reimbursed for this, _damn it,_ he’s not a fuckin’ _delivery boy._

Hisoka purses his lips, eyes narrowing, and Killua grimaces—sparkly lilac eyeshadow. How tacky.

“I’ll give you one day’s notice before our first pop quiz.”

“Deal.” Killua wouldn’t have worried about the pop quiz anyway (because he _does_ pay attention during class, even when the professor is being a total creep) but he can’t let Hisoka continue thinking he’ll do this for free.

The broad, deranged smile returns. “Oh, thank you.”

Killua makes to turn away when Hisoka sets a cold hand on his shoulder— _gross—_ and Killua leaps away, hissing. “Now, Killua. About the first delivery.”

Killua tries to shake off the feeling of something dirty on his skin. “What ‘bout it?” he grumbles, slowly inching away towards the doors.

“Please tell me, in excruciating detail, the exact expression Illumi made when he saw the…the _documents_.”

Killua doesn’t like where this is going. He clutches his backpack straps, gaze darting away— _don’t make eye contact._ “Uh, he didn’t really—“

Hisoka sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the exhale accompanied by a low noise in his throat that makes Killua want to set himself on fire. “ _Excruciating. Detail.”_

The horror Killua feels then can’t be described with words. “Oh, my god. You’re a fuckin’ _pervert_.” Killua _sprints_ for the exit, faster than he’s run in a long time.

“I can give you extra credit!” Hisoka calls after him, but Killua’s already long gone.

 

 . . . 

. . .

 

Illumi doesn’t say anything as he snatches the sealed envelope from Killua’s fingers this time, instead locking himself in his office after slamming the door shut so hard the floor quivers.

“I wonder what’s going on,” Gon murmurs, looking at the closed door curiously.

“Trust me, I don’t think we want to know.” Killua leans his hip against Gon's desk, taking in the messy workstation—post-it notes covered in cartoon doodles, takeout boxes and half-graded recitation exercises. Gon laughs nervously, noticing Killua's scrutiny, and he casually drapes his body across the desk in a poor attempt at covering the mess. 

“So, haha, um, Dr. Zoldyck doesn't really have anything else for me to do, so I can leave. Did you wanna go do something?" he asks, his eyes suddenly lighting up with an idea. "I have a deck of cards! We could get lunch and then play Go Fish somewhere?"

"You are  _such_ an old woman, Gon. You're turning into your grandmother."

Gon scowls. "I am  _not._ Grandma prefers poker!" 

"Good job totally missing my point."

"Whatever. Do you wanna get something to eat or not?"

Killua smiles at Gon's irritation, reaching down to grasp the handle of his bag and sling it over his shoulder again. "Let's go, Granny." 

They walk for five minutes to the southern edge of campus, where the full street is lined with restaurants, self-serve frozen yogurt shops and bars. They pick a sandwich shop, the two of them getting long submarines with hot meat in the middle before taking their food back outside. To Killua's slight dismay Gon spots an apparently perfect spot of frozen ground, underneath a barren oak tree and completely devoid of other people.  _At least the ground is dry,_ Killua thinks with resignation, plopping himself down on the dead, brittle grass, immediately unwrapping his sandwich and taking a big bite before it has time to cool off. Gon follows his lead, first removing his fluffy black parka— _oh my god, this kid is seriously insane—_ but to Killua's surprise the jacket is offered to him, and he stares at it with wide eyes. 

"You're really sensitive to the cold, right? Here, take it."

Killua swallows his bite with some difficulty, the taste all but disappeared from his tongue. "Gon, it's below freezing. I can't take your coat."

Gon shakes his head, leaning over to settle the jacket across Killua's shoulders before he sits down with a little _harumph._ "It was my idea to sit out here in the first place. It wouldn't be fair for you to get cold."

The jacket is still warm; still smells good—Killua sets his sandwich down in his lap, slowly slipping his arms through the sleeves. It's big on him. He doesn't know why he likes that. 

He picks up his sandwich again, watching as Gon roots around his bag for the deck of cards. "By that logic, you gotta gimme your pants too. At this rate my ass is gonna freeze off." 

Gon startles, blinking at him behind his owlish glasses. Then he starts to laugh. "Oh Killua, you're so funny! My pants would never fit you," he chuckles, beginning to shuffle the deck. 

"What's so funny about a double ass-sectomy, huh? Are you gonna pay for my hospital bills?" 

"I'll make it up to you, somehow," Gon replies evenly. He deals each of them out seven cards face-down, setting the rest of them in the center between them. 

"Let me go first, then." 

"You drive a hard bargain, Killua. Go ahead," Gon grins, finally unwrapping his own food and inhaling half in one bite. His cheeks get full like a chipmunk's, and he makes a happy little noise that brings Killua physical pain. "Uh...do you have any sixes?" he asks, surveying his own hand—two sixes, a four, an ace, a queen, and two two's. 

"Nope. Go Fish." 

Scowling, Killua reaches for another card. A seven. Useless. “How’s Aunt Mito?” he asks, cramming the last of his sandwich in his mouth at once and brushing crumbs off with his sleeve. He remembers the woman Gon called his mother nearly as well as he remembers the boy himself. In a lot of ways she had been more a mother to him than Kikyo; supportive when he needed it, generous with her hugs, kissed his cheeks and wiped her lipstick marks off with her thumbs. She had always seen through him so easily; she knew that even though he complained that she was smothering, he never wanted her to stop coddling him. He misses her, too, now that he thinks about it.

Gon swallows, nodding enthusiastically. “She’s great! She got married back on the island. Grandma still lives with her and her husband. Got any kings?”

"Go Fish. What's her husband like? And d'you have any two's?"

"Damn, here—and he's really nice! He's a craftsman, so he builds his own tables and chairs and stuff. Really handy. Any fives?"

"Sorry, Go Fish."

Gon makes a wordless cry of despair. 

"How have the past six years been?" Killua then asks,  _really_ hoping his voice had only sounded bitter to himself. He wasn't under the delusion that it wasn't his fault as much as Gon's that they lost contact—that was a door that swung both ways.  _But he's the one who left,_ the dark part of his heart says.  _He needed to be with his father,_ says the other. 

"Hm, good? Ging can't stay in one place for very long, so we moved around a lot. I saw a lot of things, new places. It was an adventure. Any fours?"

"Nope." He actually does have a four, but he wants to see how long he can cheat before Gon figures it out. Should be entertaining whenever he does.

Gon wrinkles his nose at his hand, before sighing and giving Killua a little smile. "But as nice as that was, I'm happy I get to stay in one place for a while, you know? And  _especially_ because I get to be with you again!" he says, chipper as ever and completely unaware that Killua's heart feels like it's migrated into his throat. Killua tries in vain to clear it away with a pathetic little cough; knows that his cheeks must be glowing like twin suns right about now. "Any aces?" he croaks. Gon makes another dismayed sound.

"How are you so good at Go Fish!" he whines, handing a card over and drawing another one.

"Natural born talent," Killua mumbles. 

Gon mutters something under his breath in return before pointedly clearing his throat. When Killua looks up, he's staring at him with an eyebrow raised. "So, Killua. I've told you an awful lot about myself, but you haven't told me  _anything._ "

Killua grunts. "Whaddya wanna know?" He's not thrilled about the prospect of story time, but it's  _Gon,_ and he's asking about Killua's life like he  _cares,_ and it's extremely difficult to think about Gon's disappointment if he were to deny him. 

"Major?" 

"Electrical engineering." 

"How are your parents?" Damn, he sure didn't beat around the bush. Killua licks his lips, not lifting his eyes from his card hand. All he needs is one more two before he has his first book. "Dunno," he says noncommittally, rearranging his cards in numerical-value-order. 

Gon hums. "What about Alluka?" 

"Good. Great, if you ask her. She just got her first boyfriend—some punk named Zushi. You remember my friend Bisky? Alluka's living with her until she graduates high school." 

"She'd be a senior this year, right?"

"Yep."

"Wow," Gon breathes. "Time sure flies." 

Killua shrugs. He doesn't want to be thinking about time right now, not when it's all he's thought about for the past few days.  

Suddenly a shadow's cast on his hand and blocking out the measly winter sunlight; Killua looks up to find Gon up on his knees and leaning over, staring at Killua's cards with an expression resembling righteous fury. Killua flips them down into his lap, but not fast enough. 

"Ah-ha! So you  _do_ have a four! I knew you were doing too well! You're cheating!" Gon accuses, scowling, his face  _way_ too close to Killua's for comfort. 

Killua shoves a hand into his cheek, pushing him away. "Stop looking at my cards!"

"Why! Because then I'd find out you're a big fat liar?!"

"It's called strategy, Gon!"

Gon quickly turns his head and licks Killua's hand, and Killua screeches. " _Fuckin'—_ that's fuckin' _gross_!" 

Gon pokes out his tongue. "Your face is gross!"

"Wow, real mature! Nice eighth-grade comeback!" 

"Almost as mature as cheating at Go Fish?!" 

"Shut up! Here's your precious four, it's not like I need to cheat to win anyways! Your poker face is shit!" 

"You don't need a poker face to play Go Fish! That's the whole point!"

"Shut up! Are we playing or not?" 

Gon narrows his eyes, and only after forcing Killua into a pinky promise of  _no more cheating_ does he relax and let them resume the game. Killua has to Go Fish after his turn but luckily draws the last two he needs, and he smugly places his first book onto the grass in front of him. Gon glowers. 

"And what about you?" he asks after several minutes of by-the-book playing, Killua managing to get another six but being forced to give up both of his aces in a particularly brutal move by Gon.

"What  _about_ me?" he replies, absentmindedly wondering how mad Gon would be if he pretended like he didn't have the king he just picked up for the rest of the game. Gon doesn't mess around with the sanctity of pinky promises; it's safe to say he'd be pretty pissed. Still, Killua contemplates.  

"Do you have anybody special?" 

_Oh._

Killua inhales sharply; doesn't let his facial expression falter in the slightest. _Why. Why._ He looks Gon straight in the eyes, carefully blank. "No."

Gon's eyebrows shoot up, looking genuinely surprised. "Really? You don't even  _like_ someone?"

"No." 

"What! Why!"

Killua growls, composure slipping so easily, gripping onto his cards so hard they start to crinkle where his fingers press. "I don't know! I just don't! And even if I did it's not like anyone would like me back!"

Gon looks completely scandalized. "Why wouldn't they?"

Killua shrugs. "Lots of reasons. I'm scary. Hard to get along with. Screwed in the head. Take your pick." He swallows, taking a deep breath through his nose; damn,  _every time,_ every time he's with Gon he overshares. He doesn't mean to, it just  _comes out,_ like it had been building pressure under the surface and Gon's presence is like a needle held to a balloon. Nothing he's just said is news, but that's exactly the reason he's soashamed. That it's been six years and he's still drowning in this ocean of  _not good enough, not good enough,_ no matter how many times Alluka had covered his face in kisses or how many times Gon had reassured him, over and over, that _y_ _ou're my best friend, Killua._

And Gon hasn't forgotten this, either. Immediately, he grows still, his whole body becoming tense. There's a thick moment of silence. "I really don't like it when you talk about yourself that way," Gon eventually says, utterly serious. "It's not fair to yourself, or the people who love you."

Killua snorts, his lips quirked in a half-smile that is in no way humorous. "Yeah? Like who?"

"Like  _Alluka?_ Like  _Illumi?_ The only time Dr. Zoldyck ever mentions other people is when he's talking about _you._ And all he ever says is good things."

"Family doesn't  _count,_ Gon." Even in a family as fucked up as his, Alluka's devotion still feels somewhat instinctive, no matter how much she insists that it was earned. Even Illumi, warped as he is, continues to dote on Killua as means of atonement. Taking Killua away from the family when he was sixteen was just the beginning of a chain of actions to alleviate his guilt for his part in the absolute wreckage of Killua's childhood. That wasn't love. That was _obligation_. 

But Gon can't  _see_ that, one of his major flaws still being that he can't help but only assume the best of people. "Why not? You know better than anyone that family doesn't  _have_ to be in your life if they don't want to be there! And you know that I know that, too."  _Ging._ Killua's never truly stopped hating him for being absent the first fourteen years of Gon's life, and he never truly stopped hating him for taking Gon away from him. It wasn't fair that he just got to  _show up_ and receive the blue ribbon, whereas Killua is there for two long years and only got one for participation. It was a shitty way of thinking about it, which is exactly why he keeps those feelings to himself. Gon isn't a prize to be won. But oh, how Killua  _wants him._ Even now, Gon's face screwed up indignantly, half a meatball sandwich in his lap while he makes empty talk about _what a catch_ Killua is, he wants him so bad his chest aches.  _You stubborn asshole. Why are you doing this to me again._

"I know," Killua says quietly, is ready to just drop this topic that is significantly ruining his Fun Afternoon Out with Gon. He doesn't want to think about this anymore—not about like, or love, or all the things he wants but can never have. But Gon's still bull-headed, still doesn't know when he's made his point; he must see Killua's quiet admission as permission to keep going, because he's still gesticulating aggressively, doesn't even notice when his sandwich slides off his lap to land in the dirt. 

"Okay, if you want other examples, then fine! Take me, for instance!" Killua's stomach bottoms out with something akin to dread, but Gon continues like he hadn't said anything strange, waving his arms around. “You were the best friend I ever had, hands down!"

_If you loved me so much then why did you leave me._

_Don't say it, idiot. Don't say it._ But being friends for so long must have garnered Gon some form of telepathy because his expression hardens, and he leans forward, cards forgotten. "Killua, moving was the hardest thing I ever had to do, you know! You're  _important_ to me! And  _anyone_ would be lucky to have you!" 

Killua doesn't say anything; feels like if he does then something ugly will come out of his throat instead.  _What about you? Would_ you _be lucky to have me?_

Gon shakes his head, looking beyond frustrated. "You know what? One of the biggest regrets in my life is that I ever lost contact with you. And yeah, it was your fault too! But for  _me—_  I mean, growing up I had the _biggest_ crush on you—" Gon suddenly chokes, his mouth dropping open like a dumb fish. "Oh, oops," he breathes, staring at the frozen figure of Killua with stunned eyes, like he himself can't believe what he just said. He has the gall to look sheepish. “Sorry, that was an accident. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

"What?" Killua asks weakly. This wasn't real. He wants to think he's hallucinating again, but that didn't prove to be true the first time, either. 

Gon misinterprets the way Killua's hands suddenly start shaking, and his eyes blow wide with an edge of panic. "Don't freak out! Sorry! Really, it's just—argh, I'm sorry! That probably really weirds you out, huh?" _No. No, it doesn't. Me too, me too—_ the hope in Killua's chest is warring with the part of him that's still saying  _not good enough,_ and he struggles to breathe, to harness his emotions and sort them out into anything resembling coherency. He opens his mouth, but Gon doesn't let Killua get a word in edge-wise before barreling on, his cheeks slightly rosy, for once the one to be flustered. "Anyways, it was a long time ago, so it doesn't matter anymore. I'm over it, okay? So don't freak out! All I meant was that you're totally like-able!"

_I'm over it._

"You—" Killua feels like he's been hit with a direct blow to the gut, the way the pain comes so suddenly and fiercely. It reminds him of when they were thirteen, when they were roughhousing and Gon had accidentally punched him full-strength in the stomach. Back then, he had apologized profusely as Killua fought to get back the wind that was knocked out of him; now, Gon's apologizing for all the wrong reasons. His words are only making it worse, adding gasoline to the flame.  _It was a long time ago._

 _It's not his fault. It's not his fault he doesn't like you the way you want him to,_  says the sweeter voice. _Stop. Stop it, before you say something you regret. Killua, don't—_

" _Fuck you."_ Killua's trembling, tasting copper in this mouth and feeling the burn of salt in his eyes. 

Gon gapes at him, stupefied. "Killua? Why—"

"Just  _shut up,_ Gon! Just shut up!" He needs to leave, he needs a minute to cool his head, to get this blistering disappointment under wraps. The hope was extinguished as quickly as it arose, and the sudden whiplash of emotion is making it hard for him to think clearly. 

"I said I was sorry! I don't understand why you're getting so—"

Killua stands, ripping the borrowed jacket off of himself in one movement and throwing it at Gon's face, still staring up at him with worry and bewilderment—always so damn _earnest,_ always so fucking  _cute,_ so  _lovable. Still?_ the nasty voice inside Killua asks, taunting and smug.  _Even after all these years?_ He turns, balling his sandwich wrapper in a tight wad as he walks away, boots crunching in the frosty grass. Ignoring Gon calling after him. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter," Killua mutters under his breath, watching the pale fog billow from his parted lips. 

_Only to one of us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, the "documents" are exactly what you think they are.
> 
> and Killua's in a psychology class even tho he's electrical engineering bc it satisfies a core requirement for his major. idk if other schools do that but mine does so jUST ROLL WITH IT
> 
> REALLY THIS TIME just one more chapterrrr and i think no smut bc that shit is NOT my forte but whhhhOOAOOAAAA this got a lot angstier than i planned!! yikes!!
> 
> and i forgot to mention last time that the title comes from "forget me nots" by patrice rushden. it's an 80s disco masterpiece and listening to it will change ur life
> 
> talk to me at smileyeeyore.tumblr.com homies!!


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